


Imprint

by lavender_euro505



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019), Dunkirk (2017), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Swearing, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:07:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25025935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavender_euro505/pseuds/lavender_euro505
Summary: Alex drags Tommy to yet another pub, for yet another third-wheeling date, until a pair of green eyes puts him face to face with the man he thought he lost two years before.
Relationships: Alex/Louis Tomlinson, Gibson/Tommy (Dunkirk), William Schofield/Tom Blake
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Imprint

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the song “Imprint” by Joe & Fionn [Whitehead]
> 
> Also, this was in my drafts and I just wanted to post it. Hope it’s not too terrible, haha.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Who are you even talking to?” Alex’s voice startled Tommy from his current thoughts. They most certainly weren’t on the way to their local pub like they should’ve been. Weren't they headed the wrong way?

Alex gives him a hard stare, waiting for Tommy to catch up a little ways before they cross the street again. It’s gone a bit dark already but Tommy can imagine the deep crease between Alex’s eyes, his foot tapping. Tommy has to skip toward him just to keep up.

“Barely said a word to me,” he hears Alex grumble as they make their way up the street, together this time. Tommy feels like he should apologize. He knows he’s been reticent lately and since they’re officially rooming together now, it doesn’t make sense to hold this… grudge. 

“Makes me feel like I’ve done something to ya...” Alex gives him a sideways glance. Tommy tries to keep a neutral face. He hopes he nails it. 

“Just… Got a lot on my mind, sorry.” He gives a half-hearted shrug that probably doesn’t land as he wants because he hears Alex scoff like it's an excuse. Tommy’s always giving excuses. Just last week he’d said he was feeling poorly because the soup he ate for lunch was off, so he couldn’t possibly go out for a stroll with Alex in the afternoon. Nausea, Alex had said, a tea could fix that clear up. Tommy had been insistent that he stay home and Alex, probably fed up with it, let him. 

They cross another street, the pavement wet with a light rain, as they head toward, what Alex called, The Dog and Parrot. It was a bit out of the way if Tommy was being honest, but he did enjoy the walk. Plus, it was new to him; he'd never been there before now. Alex wanted to take a taxi, but Tommy reminded him of the expense. Weren’t they meant to spend their meager cash on beer tonight, anyway?

Tommy had nearly forgotten what had captured his thoughts from earlier when they finally entered what he thought was a local pub. Being in Manchester, where Alex was originally from, gave him a sort of home field advantage. He seemed to roam the streets like he was king, a self-assured stride to his walk. Even now, as they crossed the dark threshold, Tommy sees at least twenty pairs of eyes flit over to them and the effect is a bit startling. Tommy wraps his thick flannel a bit closer to his chest, the men in the room feeling like a threatening force. 

Alex rushes ahead of them toward the back, leaving Tommy to fend for himself. A man twice his age gives him a hard stare, grunts and sloppily takes a swig from his near empty drink. The man was rather well dressed, just a sloppy drunk, and giving Tommy quite an eye. He really didn’t want to stick around to see what this man would say. Tommy tries to contain a grimace, but fails, watching as the man swipes at his mouth, glistening spit and all, smearing across his face. Where had Alex gone to? Tommy stands on his toes hoping to catch a head of him. That’s when he saw the boy. The man, more like.

Tommy swore that in the two years since he’d first lost him, in the war, that Gibson would be just a memory. He swore that in two year's time Gibson would find a nice French bird to fall in love with, marry and move into a lush apartment in Paris with her. Meanwhile, Tommy was in a flatshare with Alex and another mate of his named Will, with a steady utility job that paid the bills. Oh, and shell-shock, his mother liked to remind him.

Will had declined their invitation for tonight. He had a date with his not-so-secret beau, Tom Blake, he’d said. Tommy was starting to feel glad about not declining.

“Gib- Gibson?” He breathed. The man stood in front of him had his same dark green eyes. The ones that said so much when his mouth said nothing - when he couldn’t say a word because he was French and didn’t really know English. _His Gibson._

The man blinked at him and then shifted away as the slobbering man with his beer came stumbling toward them. His Gibson turned his back and Tommy sidestepped the drunken bloke to trail after him. Alex always went to the most crowded pubs; that way he could be seen. He loved the spotlight. And there were plenty of men here ready to look. Tommy felt like every eye on the room was staring at him, like they were waiting for him to combust. He’d look in someone’s direction and it’d be over; they’d turn away. Maybe he was imagining things, like he was imagining his lost love from two years ago was suddenly here from the shores of Dunkirk. 

“Gibson?” Tommy tried to call, but he felt a hand grab the back of his flannel, stopping him abruptly.

“Oi, going on about him again? Thought we were past that, mate.” Alex says, turning Tommy back around. “Look, I got us some seats.” Tommy didn’t care about the damn seats. Alex lifts a golden pint in front of Tommy’s face.

“Here’s your pint then. Y’can thank me later.” Alex says with a wink. Tommy wants to roll his eyes. He doesn’t care about the pint nor the insinuations of his flatmate. 

Alex shepards him toward a small table off to the side, where it’s a bit more clear and less crowded. The heavy chatter of the room near deafens Tommy’s thoughts and if someone didn’t soon open a door or crack a bloody window the warmth of the bodies would nearly make him gag. He lifts the front of his shirt away from his clammy skin. _God, had he really seen Gibson?_

Alex sits in front of him, chewing his lip. He’s said something, Tommy knows, by the look on his face. Tommy’s not paying mind though. He’s miles away and all he can hear is the noise. Closing his eyes, he reckons being drunk would maybe be his better option. Take his mind off his hallucinations. 

“Did you hear what I said then?” Alex raises an impatient eyebrow in Tommy’s direction. 

“Hmm?” Tommy offers, trying at least to sound apologetic after downing nearly half his pint.

“Those lads, down by the end of the bar, keep looking at us. Know who they are?” Tommy wants to turn to look. Alex kicks him in the shin for it.

“Don’t bloody _look!_ You’ll make it obvious!” A pain zips through Tommy’s leg as he clutches his ankle, making sure to send Alex his dirtiest glare.

“And what was I meant to do then?” 

Alex runs a hand through his hair, scratching at the back of his head discreetly. His two front teeth graze and bite his lip over and over. _Why was he so damn nervous tonight?_

“I dunno, just don’t be too obvious, yeah? I was meant to meet someone here actually. But the thing is, he’s...” He trails off to finish the rest of his drink. Tommy takes a moment to focus back on Alex and let go of his aching leg. 

“I’m sorry, you what? Meet who, exactly?” Why on earth had Alex brought him along to be third wheel to whatever shoddy date he’d set himself up on. The last time he’d met some girl of Alex’s was when he’d accidentally caught them in a rather compromising position on the sitting room sofa. He still can’t sit on it. That was months ago.

Wait - “He?” Tommy asks, eyebrow raised. Alex nods, rather shyly.

“Aye. Um, well, I- I think that it might be him.” Now it’s Tommy’s turn to look confused. 

“Him? So, definitely not...” 

Alex nods and says again, “Aye.” He downs the rest of his pint and glances at Tommy. “Anyway, that, er, lad of yours. The frog...” Tommy can feel the heat drain from his cheeks as his eyes cross. Had he heard him correctly?

“You’re here to meet my- er, Gibson?” Alex nods, long fingers tracing the edge of his empty pint glass. His eyes are down and looking guilty and all Tommy wants to do is smash the pint glass against the window. 

“You’re meeting him? And, what? He contacted you?” Alex shakes his head. Oh, so they’re playing that game. The one where Tommy interrogates and Alex looks forlornly and stays mute. Bloody ironic, that is.

“ _You_ contacted _him?_ _Why?_ You don’t even like him!” Why did Alex want to meet with a man he scorned at whenever he was brought up? Tommy was aware of Alex’s many preferences when it came to suitors. He hadn’t been shy about admitting it, especially when liquor was involved. But honestly, Tommy figured he was just being drunk and lonely Alex. Had he been secretly corresponding with Gibson on the sly behind Tommy’s back? Maybe this whole “frog” this and “I don’t like him” that was just a front to cover up his real feelings… But if Alex indeed fancied Gibson and had intentionally brought Tommy here tonight, knowing _his_ feelings, what did that make Tommy? A fucking fool. He was not going to be made out as a fool.

Tommy flexes his fingers across the wooden table, clenching and unclenching them. Alex looks at him, lost. It only adds to Tommy's irritation, “What the hell do you take me for, eh?” 

Suddenly, Alex has his voice back, “Beg your pardon?” Tommy scoffs rolling his eyes. He’d had enough of this. 

Tommy lowers his voice and bares his teeth, “You know very well how much I’ve fancied Gibson for two _bleeding_ years. I’ve never carried on about anyone else, Alex, and now you--!. You’ve gone and manipulated him to meet you behind my back.” 

Alex’s eyes are wide and his lips are tucked into a thin line, like he’s trying not to breathe. Tommy didn’t think he’d actually scare him, but maybe he could be intimidating when he wanted to be. 

Alex’s honking laugh could be heard across town. 

_Bastard._

Tommy scoffs, annoyed. “Oh so, it's funny, then, is it?” Alex is shaking his head, his hair flopping into his face. He really needed to get a haircut, the sight of him, Tommy thinks grudgingly. 

Alex purses his lips and looks out the window, looking like he wants to laugh again. Tommy’ll slap him if he does. 

“You reckon that I’ve gone and seduced some washed up frog that we haven’t seen for two years to do what exactly?” He can’t seem to hold in his giggles at the situation. They only fuel Tommy’s fire.

“God, Alex, you really think I’m that much of a fool?”

“Yes!” Alex laughs, grinning widely. “I honestly do, mate, ‘cos I’m not here to see him. For fucks sake.” Tommy narrows his eyes.

“You said you were meeting him… like a date.” Tommy can’t help the slight pout that his lips form. Alex slaps a hand around his mouth to contain his laugh, tufts of air escaping as he squeezes his eyes shut. 

“How could you?” Tommy continues. “And then invite me to come along? Does he even fancy you, like?” At this point, Alex’s eyes are flitting back and forth from Tommy to some point beyond him near the bar. Alex shakes his head, his cheeks flushed from containing his laughter, as he wipes at errant tears.

“Tom, my dearest Tom,” Tommy rolls his eyes.

“Don’t bloody chastise me, Alex.” 

“I’m not, mate, it’s just.... It’s so funny how little faith you have in me. I’d _never,_ ” he raises a delicate hand to his chest, “seduce your Frenchie and then,” he struggles to contain his laughter again; Tommy rolls his eyes. “Invite you to our date at a gay bar.” Tommy stills, eyes fixed on Alex’s face as he watches his mate run a hand through his dark brown hair. 

“Excuse me, what?” 

Alex simply smiles in Tommy’s direction. “Aye. That’s why there’s no sign out front. And no women.”

Tommy purses his lips. That must be why it felt like everyone was looking at him…

“I thought it was just a men’s club.” Alex winks at him.

“Exactly,” Alex clears his throat and looks back toward the bar again, scratching at his neck. “Now when I said I was meeting him, I meant, I was meeting someone I met a while ago. But it seems like he knows your Gibson, too. They’re here together.” 

This time, Tommy whips his head around to look over at the bar. At this point, Alex seems to have gathered up a bit of courage between that admission and kicking Tommy’s shin again for being daft. At once, he’s mumbling about another pint and making his way over to the bar again. 

“ _Shit._ ” Tommy knocks back the rest of his; half a beer in one go is a good way to start the night, he reckons. Alex can’t be left to his own devices, really. Knowing the faces he makes and the winks and smiles he gives out like liberties would surely get them thrown out, or worse. He makes his way toward the bar, toward the spot where he thinks the blokes from before might have been. He didn’t get a good look at them, what with the crowd and Alex’s anxiety about it, but from what he saw, they looked to be about their age: young, fit, and seemingly sound. 

Tommy spots Alex hunched a bit at the bar, and he’s worried someone’s already had a few rough words with him. He puts a steady hand on his shoulder, “Alright, mate?” He leans forward to look for a sign in his face, but all he sees is a small grin. _What’s the grin for?_ He asks him just as much.

“It _is_ him.” Alex whispers, and his green eyes flash coyly, up over Tommy’s head toward the end of the bar. It’s almost as if Tommy can feel the pair of eyes burning into his back now. Alex’s eyes fall back to him and one of his dimples pops out.

“Told you he brought a friend.” Tommy instantly makes an affronted noise.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Tommy feels it more than he hears the way in which the mood around them has shifted. Bodies passing back and forth, swaying on the spot, moving up for another pint and crowding the space. Tommy almost wants to shuffle out of there. He doesn’t get the chance.

“Alex, is it?” A new, raspy and a little tinny, voice calls out. Tommy whips his head round and comes face to face with a lad about his height, probably a little older perhaps if the specks of silver around his temple are anything to go by, and bright blue eyes framed by arched eyebrows. As interesting as this boy is, he isn’t the one that catches his attention. It’s the dark green eyes from before.

“Cheeky, but yes. Hi. It is me.” _Alex, charming as ever,_ Tommy thinks. Tommy can hear his rambling continue as Alex stumbles forward, into Tommy, to shake hands with the raspy voiced angel before them. 

“Louis.” The angel, er, Louis replies coolly. “And this is me mate, Philippe.” 

“ _French?_ ” Tommy breathes out. Anything to connect him to Gibson, he reasons with himself. Louis chuckles in response. 

“Eh, yeah. I know, a bit of an obvious name. Hope there’s no grief.” Louis chuckles. Tommy shakes his head and it feels like it’ll never stop. 

“No, none at all.” Alex laughs too. “Tommy’s been trying to learn French, funny that. Did you just move to town then?” Everyone focuses their attention on Philippe. He gives a look toward Louis and brushes a hand through his dark curls.

“Yes?” 

Louis gives them a smile.

“He’s still learning and that, mate. Just moved here with his mum. His dad was British, but died in the war, see,” a silence of understanding falls between them. “But he’s moved here, now. Fresh start.” Louis claps his hands together.

“How’s I buy everyone a round now, hey?” Alex’s eyes glisten. Tommy reckons he’s far from nervous now. 

As Louis takes care of the order and Alex hangs onto his every word, Tommy stands shocked next to Philippe. They haven’t said a word, just a few subtle glances on Tommy’s part. _He looks so much like Gibson,_ he thinks. Could it be just yearning? Wishing that it were him?

“Sorry, you just... you look so familiar.” Tommy’s eyes find Philippe’s and they soften.

 _Maybe if he could just imagine that it were him…_

Philippe takes a step back.

“Maybe I’m- I’m mistaken?” Tommy clenches his jaw. Damn this! He’s waited; he’s longed for him for so long. He’s not going to be a coward anymore. He’s not going to lose Gibson twice.

“Gibson?” Philippe’s eyes follow the point of Tommy’s finger where it gently rests at the center of his chest - where dog tags should be.

Philippe shakes his head, emphatically. “No, no, Philippe is my name. Philippe Guillet.”

Tommy eyes him closely, Philippe looking from Tommy and back to Louis. Tommy steps forward, as Philippe edges away, back nearly against the other wall.

“Gibson... You- you look just like him…” Those animated green eyes squeeze shut, hoping to make things stop. Philippe shakes his head, whispering something in French.

Louis’ hand is firm as he grips Tommy by the shoulder. “Everything alright, mate?”

Tommy turns, catches Alex’s eye and Louis’ piercing stare. 

“He just… he looks like a mate of mine, from the war… Gibson.” Philippe winces at the name and says something quickly to Louis in French. Louis answers him with a tight voice.

“Oi, you speak French, too, then?” Alex nudges Louis in the side, grinning full force. 

“Not now, love,” he gently replies. “Tommy… Philippe, he’s…” Tommy pulls away from Louis’ grip, eyes narrowed.

“You think I’m mad too, eh? Did Alex tell you all about me and Gibson and how sick I’d been all this time? Never knowing what became of him.” He hadn’t even noticed he was crying until Louis reached into his pocket and gave him a handkerchief.

“Mate,” Louis begins. “I’m sorry, but, he’s not as he was.”

Tommy can see Alex, staring intently at the floor like he knew.

“I don’t- how?” Twisting around, he sees Philippe wringing his hands nervously. “What do you mean?”

“He can’t remember, mate.”

He knows it’s been two years, but how could he forget? 

“Oh don’t be daft,” he tells Louis, before taking Philippe by the shoulders and leveling him with wide, hazel eyes. “Tell him. Tell him how we were.”

God, he sounded like he did two years ago… Almost.

Philippe’s teeth sink into his bottom lip and his eyes search Tommy’s face, trying to place him. 

Tommy feels defeated when Philippe simply shrugs his shoulders, head shaking.

Tommy’s voice breaks into a sob. “For God’s sake, tell him…” This couldn’t end in heartbreak again. He just wouldn't allow it. He said he’d live with it once, but twice?

Alex’s deep, steady voice nearly brings him to his knees. 

“He doesn’t remember you, mate.”

He knew better not to get close to people, especially in war. You lose people in war, everyone, including yourself.

The dried tears on his face itched. God, he was so fed up with this entire night. 

He needed a drink.

But Philippe stops him. They’re all watching Tommy like he’s a feral animal.

“You don’t know what it's like, torturing myself with thoughts of you,” his hands slip down Philippe’s arms and the Frenchman seemed to be grounded at the spot. “Wondering if you’d made it, too. Wondering if I’d see you on the street, or at the shops, or anywhere. Hoping you’d find me.”

He takes his arms back and wipes at his tears.

“Fucking daft, aren’t I? There’s a war on and all I can think about is a French bloke I hadn’t said more than ten words to, and had only really known for a week, if that.”

Philippe tentatively reaches for Tommy’s cheek, his knuckles brushing his heated skin. God, Tommy’s heart seems lodged in his throat with the effort to say something, but he can’t. He’s somehow managed to fall for this man all over again, with little to do.

“Not daft.” Philippe's voice is soft and gentle: a caress. Tommy huffs out a suddenly nervous laugh as Philippe cautiously closes the gap he’d made between them.

“I swear, Philippe, it’s all I could think of. I remember everything. I couldn’t forget you.”

Philippe’s eyes flit down to Tommy’s upturned lips, before returning Tommy’s hopeful gaze, and back again. 

“Then, help me remember.”


End file.
